


Mother dear.

by vazalea



Category: DnD - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vazalea/pseuds/vazalea
Summary: Rosabelle writes in her diary entry from what she recalls from her childhood. This chapter just happens to be about her mom cuz I developed her so much





	Mother dear.

Entry 1540: Mother dearest.

I do not recall my mother ever laughing. In fact, I don't remember a time she smiled.

I never noticed it until everyone in the village pointed out to me; in an annoying righteous manner that my mother was never a happy woman, that even with an amazing Husband like my father, and a beautiful daughter like me; she couldn't find a reason to be grateful. I never liked this. I always fought; never speak of my mother like that! I say. 

But afterwards, I can't help but notice as well. Did I do something for my mother to be so unhappy?

Father told me not to think about it too much.

It's a phrase I've became too much familiar with, always regrading my mother.

Like how my mother took me to the river nearby our home, to cleanse ourselves, she said. She hardly ever spoke. A usual routine, I never thought much of it. Save for the time she panicked suddenly, and forced my head under the water, screeching what I can only call unholy. My father interfered, fortunately.

Till this day, I can't tell if it was the river or my tears I felt in my mouth. 

Mother was never like this, my father said. But I'll never know. 

I thought it was strange there was a pain in his voice.

She has her gentle moments, however. When she gestured me to come a little closer, i had my back towards her and felt her hands gently go through the layers of my hair, turning into a beautiful work of braids only she could do. She decorated it with my favorite flowers too, pretended I was a princess for that day. I had a day of pride whenever someone asked me who braided my hair, that i huff my chest, claiming it's my mothers work. I don't know if they ever believed me. I like to think mother smiled to herself that day. She even offered me a flower crown as a peace offering for the river incident. At least that's what I like to think.

I love mother, no matter what anyone says.

I love mother, but I wonder if it's natural for a child to be vaguely terrified of their own blood.


End file.
